A Cure For Apathy
by ForWhatItsWorth
Summary: Tarkheena Aaliyah is beautiful, but empty; a piece of property to the ambitious father who is looking to use her to seduce the High King. But what if love gets in the way, and Aaliyah can finally become herself? EdmundxOC


Aaliyah stood at the gates of one of the greatest castles she had ever seen, and couldn't even muster the effort to shift off

Aaliyah Sahra sat before the gates of one of the greatest castles she had ever seen, and couldn't even muster the effort to shift off of her red velvet cushions. The slaves that held her catamaran were shifting annoyingly, in awe of the enormous Narnian fortress. Had she the effort to reprimand them, she would, but the ship journey from Calormen sapped what little energy she had. The trip itself was not a particularly rough one, but Aaliyah wasn't used to the amount of water they had to travel over. She had been green the entire trip, much to her father's worry. Not about her well being, oh no, but about her appearance. Her musings were interrupted by a feeble cough and a whinging voice.

"T-Tarkheena? Oh, Mistress? You're great father calls for you to come stand before him." Called Rahai, her fathers rat-like manservant.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes, but did as she was bidden. She was perfectly aware of the fact that she was but a piece of property to the men in her life, and had grown to accept such a dismal aspect of her culture. So flicking her veil over her eyes, she exited the lowered litter. The slaves and Rahai instantly lowered their gazes, as to look upon an unmarried and beautiful Tarkheena was frowned upon in Calormen society. And she was certainly beautiful.

Aaliyah was born to Ghadeen Sahra, a Tarkhaan of relatively low importance, but with a dangerous ambition. He married Aaliyah's mother who died in childbirth. Although the Tarkhaan refused to speak of his deceased wife, Aaliyah heard from the servants of her household that she was a beautiful, but poor woman. As soon as his daughter could walk, Ghadeen began to plan her marriage. But after each year, as the Tarkhaan noticed her growing beauty, his ideas of a worthy match grew. Now, at a prime age of 18, the spoilt Tarkheena was known through all Calormene as the most beautiful woman, desired for marriage by most all high-ranking Tarhaans. But Ghadeen had something much better in mind for his daughter, and himself. The High King of Nania.

"Daughter!" the impatient Tarkhaan yelled, clapping his hands to summon her as though she were a dog. When she stood before him, eyes modestly lowered as trained, her father looked over her as though appraising a prized cow.

"No, no, no, this will not do," he tutted before calling to a small huddle of female servants, "Maidservants! Dress her up, get her clean. Tonight she will dance for her future husband." With a sickeningly snake-like grin, the Tarkhaan twirled on a slippered toe and marched but the castle as though he owned it already.

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Aaliyah was herded through stone hallways and corridors, not bothering a curious glance at her surroundings. Through a life of excessive material goods, lustful attentions and praise, she had grown spoilt and slightly selfish. Through a life with the best education a woman could get in Calormen (which wasn't much at all), she was well versed in simple conversational skills. But through a life of being used, with no affection from her ruthless father and no friendship from the jealous women in her life, Aaliyah became lonely, without even really realizing what loneliness was. She just knew there was something missing in her life, the inability to smile without carefully measured cause, no concern over her own life, no aspirations or dreams for the betterment of herself. Aaliyah saw herself as others saw her: beautiful, like a painting on a two-dimensional canvas.

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The room she was led to was roomy and structured, with warm fabrics and polished wood. The gaggle of slaves got to work on the routine they had rehearsed, and Aaliyah let them undress and bathe her without interruption. She didn't know any of their names, as it were, as she had never bothered to find them out.

Once washed in spice-smelling oils so her chestnut skin shone with an ethereal glow, the slaves tugged at her russet locks so that they fell in loose ringlets to her lower-back, and made gleaming with the fragranced oil.

Her dancing costume was one that no proper Narnian woman would even consider wearing. The pants were made of a thin red silk, almost translucent, which billowed loosely from her hips to be drawn tight at the ankles. He stomach was left bare, and a small bikini-like top in gold with red detailing was her only top.

The dressing was simple, as Calormene beauty was always shown through their jewellery. Gold chains with rubies and diamonds hung about her neck and ankles. Large bangles of gold adorned her wrists and upper-arms, and a circlet of gold went on her hair, with a drop ruby to the middle of her forehead. Finally, chains of small, tinkling bells were looped around her waist, wrists, and ankled, her feet left bare.

The slaves stepped back, cooing and fussing, occasionally tugging at a few places. Then the small crowd parted, and a rotund, middle-aged woman stepped through, carrying a small case, and looking terribly important. This woman Aaliyah knew, Mhamai, the Tarkhaan's newly hired makeup artist. With flourish and bother, Mhamai sat the Tarkheena down, and got to work. Skin was dusted to perfection; crushed gold swept over cheekbones, and most importantly, her eyes surrounded by black kohl, emphasizing Aaliyah's rare and beautiful gold-green eyes.

Once finished, Mhamai leaned back and allowed herself a smile. "And we are done!" The slaves all cheered and clapped, and Aaliyah felt like a bothersome work of art. Once finished with their celebration, the slaves filed out except for three, who covered the Tarkheena with a robe and threw a red veil over her face.

Ghadeen swept into the room boldly, and looking at Aaliyah, he smiled. "Ready, daughter? This is the most important day of our lives. Do not fail me."


End file.
